Chapter 4
Scotty
I’m elbow-deep in a John Deere tractor that’s been bleeding hydraulic fluid like a stuck hog.
PTO shield’s busted, couplings’ seized so tight my knuckles are already raw from fighting it.
It takes me right back to Sunday, Adrienne looking at me while I wrestled with the carb.
It took everything I had not to give in to her teasing, but I know better at this point.
It feels like treading water when you’re caught up in Adrienne Slade. Like your next move might be your last if you’re not careful. But I told myself I wouldn’t let it happen this time… because if it does, I’m not sure there’s much willpower left in me to resist her.
I wrench down, my shoulders burning so bad I know I’ll pay for it tomorrow. But I keep going. Anything to keep from looking across the bay.
The Mustang sits there under the lights, clean bay, fresh parts list pinned to the wall, waiting.
I debated coming in early to work on it, but she wouldn't know. Maybe it would cut down on the amount of time I’ll have to spend next to her, smelling her lingering perfume while I try to stay focused.
But I know she’d be hurt if she knew, and I can't do that. So I gave myself a rule. I don’t touch that car without Adrienne here. Not one bolt. Not one goddamn rag.
She’s single again.
I’d convinced myself she was still tied up with that Rockies asshole, and maybe that excuse was the only thing keeping me sane.
I know the game… we both do. We’ve played it for years.
She breaks up, she circles back, and suddenly I’m her favorite distraction.
She wants to feel better about herself, prove she’s not broken, and I’m the convenient bastard who lets her.
And yeah—I’ve enjoyed it before. Fuck, I’ve loved it.
Every joke, every almost-kiss, every second her eyes soften like maybe this time we’ll take it just a step further.
It’s torture, pure fucking torture, but I never stopped.
I’ve held up the deal I made with myself about her a long time ago.
Never be the one to make the first move.
And it's not because I’m a pussy, it’s because I know damn well she’d let me take her, and I’d be facing breaking her heart along with staring down the double barrel of a shotgun held by either Axel, Aiden, or both.
But here’s the thing I don’t say out loud: every time we do this, I fall harder. And every time she walks away, it takes a little piece of my heart with it.
I keep thinking about that summer night on her parents’ porch, after the one kiss during spin the bottle that ruined me. She tasted like Cherry-Coke, laughter spilling between us.
The porch bulb buzzes above us, moths dancing around it, trying to get even closer. She’s barefoot now, her shoes abandoned in the grass behind the barn. We’re both laughing, out of breath from running.
She trips on the last step, and I catch her waist. The laughter fades into quiet, the kind that makes you wonder if something bigger is about to happen. She looks up at me through her lashes, eyes bright, and for a second, I almost close the space again.
But then she laughs, really laughs, and I stop.
That memory’s been stuck under my skin ever since.
I slam the breaker bar down, feel the bolt finally shriek loose.
Sweat stings my eyes, but it’s better than letting myself imagine the curve of her full lips as she teased me, her body leaning in like she wanted me to close the gap.
I still feel the ghost of her hand under mine on that wrench. The soft catch of her breath.
Jesus. I can’t stop replaying it. Can’t stop thinking about the way her hair slipped forward, how much I wanted to bury my face in it, taste her, make her moan until she forgot her own goddamn name.
I shake it off, jam the new seal in place, and force my focus back where it belongs.
She’s a whole lotta trouble. Always has been. Barbie in stilettos is what I started calling her the first time she came back from college wearing those big, tall heels she loves. I remember teasing her relentlessly about them, mostly because I couldn’t stop fantasizing about them over my shoulders.
One time in particular springs to mind. We were grabbing a beer at our favorite bar when she came walking in.
The loud click-clack of her heels on the worn wood floor turned heads, just like they still do.
I had made some comment about them when she smiled, walked over slowly to me, leaned in to place her hand against my chest, and said in the most seductive manner:
“Laugh all you want, Scotty boy, but we all know the only reason you care is because I wear heels bigger than your dick.”
But the reality was, she had gone away and reinvented herself, or maybe she found herself; either way, she no longer wanted to be seen as just that girl next door I grew up with, and I can’t blame her for that. Because I never had the balls to do it myself.
Instead, I've just let the same stupid reputation follow me around like a dark cloud and play into it every chance I get, like I’m still a twenty-two-year-old stallion only driven by one thing.
Maybe she likes that about me, I’m not a threat.
She knows she doesn’t have to worry about me catching feelings and trying to fuck up her perfect little world.
God knows, even if I ever could convince her brothers I’ve changed, I know damn well Hudson Slade isn't the type of man that wants his Ivy League daughter marrying the guy next door with barely a high school education.
So yeah, I’ll teach her. I’ll keep my word, keep my hands steady, keep the fucking line.
Even if my body is already betraying me. Even if every damn night ends with me hard as hell, imagining her riding my cock, begging for me to finally let loose with her. I drag a rag across my face, curse under my breath, and reach for the next tool.
Focus on your job. Don’t touch the Mustang without her. Don’t touch her.
Not unless I want to burn everything down.
The hiss of the air compressor dies down just as the rumble of a diesel rolls up out front.
I wipe my hands on a rag, already knowing the sound.
Ranger’s flatbed has a throatier growl than anything else in the county.
Sure enough, he noses the truck right up to the bay, tailgate down, chains rattling like spurs.
“Morning, boss man. Heard you’ve been running your men ragged with all these rush jobs I keep sending you.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if my men liked to work more than they like to flirt with your wife.” I nod toward the corner where Pete and Caleb are talking to Dolly. “You here for the drill?”
“Yeah. Dolly’s been riding my ass about getting it out of your way. Figured I’d better before she decides I need a chore list instead of dinner, but it looks like she might be owing me an apology tonight.”
“Don’t ride her too hard for it; she makes those boys feel like men.”
We both laugh, Pete and Caleb scurrying away from Dolly the second they see Ranger.
We walk back to where the refurbished no-till drill sits in the corner, cleaned, greased, ready to go.
“She’s solid now,” I tell him. “New bearings, hoses, whole system reset. She’ll plant straight now.”
“Music to Dolly’s ears. She has really fallen in love with gardening.” Ranger pats the side of the machine, like he’s thanking it personally, then glances around the shop. His eyes land where I knew they would. The Mustang.
His brows go up. “Well, hell. That's hers?”
I don’t have to ask who he means. “Adrienne’s. She wants to learn it herself.”
That grin spreads across his face like wildfire. “Of course she does.”
I scowl, but it doesn’t faze him. Nothing does. “Don’t start.”
“Not starting anything.” He circles the car once, appreciative but amused.
“Just saying—been a long damn time since I’ve seen this beauty.
” He runs his hand over the fender, then looks back up at me with another shit eating grin.
“It's been a long time since Adrienne has ever done anything that would get grease and grime under those perfectly manicured nails. About time she remembered she grew up a Slade.”
“She hasn’t forgotten.”
Ranger hears more in my tone than I mean to give away. His smirk says so. “You sound invested.”
“I’m invested in making sure she doesn’t strip a bolt and slice her hand open.”
“Right. All about safety. Nothing to do with the way you’ve been looking at her since we were fifteen.”
“Shut up, Ranger.”
“One of these days,” he says, grabbing my shoulder, “she’s gonna find the right guy and it’ll be too late for you to get your head out of your ass.”
I grab the forklift keys and thrust them into his palm. “Load your drill and get the hell out before I charge you double.”
He’s still grinning when he starts chaining the drill down. The bastard loves it when I bristle. Once it’s secure, he hops back into the truck, elbow hanging out the window.
“Anyway, Tyler said there’s a bonfire this weekend at the ranch. Big one. Half the family, half the town, good music, bad dancing. You'd better bring your sorry ass. As much free Slade beer and bourbon as you want, you know the deal.”
I lean against the bay door, wiping sweat from my forehead. “I’ll probably swing by.”
“Good.” His grin sharpens. “That way, when she shows up, I don’t have to watch you pretend not to notice.”
My pulse kicks, but I don’t flinch. “Didn’t ask if she was coming.”
“Didn’t have to. And you know damn well she’ll be there.” He tips his hat with a loud laugh. “See you Saturday.”
The flatbed rumbles away, leaving dust curling in the lot, and my stomach twists in knots.
Yeah, I’m totally fucked.
After my last guy has gone home, I grab another rag and wipe my hands, though the grease is ground so deep it won’t ever come out. Same with her. No matter how many times I tell myself to cut it clean, she lingers. Adrienne fucking Slade.
I look over at the Mustang again, sitting in the corner, like it knows the whole story already. Like it knows I’ve already lost.
Because Ranger’s right, she’ll be at that bonfire.
The whole family will. And I’ll show up, same as I always do, telling myself it’s for the beer or the fire or the noise.
But the truth is more pathetic than that.
I’ll go because I know she’ll be there. Because I’m weak enough to want to see her laugh across the flames, weak enough to imagine her hair catching the light while every other son of a bitch in town watches too.
And I’ll stand there, pretending I don’t care, while my chest feels like it’s splitting in half.
I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again. That’s the deal, that’s how it’s always been with us.
Ever since that one summer night in high school…
that one kiss that I’ve never gotten over.
And maybe I was stupid back then, but for a brief minute, I almost believed that she and I could be something.
But I learned really quick after the first guy she brought home from college, I wasn’t the type of man she was looking for at all.
But fuck if it isn’t getting harder. Every year. Every smile. Every fucking almost after another loser breaks her heart. But she’s not mine to rescue.
I drop the rag on the workbench, harder than I need to, and kill the lights in the bay. The Mustang glows under the fluorescents for one last second before the dark swallows her up.
She’ll be there this weekend, teasing me whether she means to or not. And I’ll be there, like a dumb bastard who can’t stop circling the same damn fire, praying I don’t get burned worse this time.